


Magic

by esteoflorien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rowena dreams of London. It has been millennia, of course, since she has seen the muggle city, and she has heard enough of its wonders to want to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerilouslyClose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerilouslyClose/gifts).



> For my beautiful Rebecca - happy Valentine’s Day, my love, from your darling girl who dreams of London, too.

Rowena dreams of London. It has been millennia, of course, since she has seen the muggle city, and she has heard enough of its wonders to want to visit.

"You could try leaving," Minerva says, watching her closely. "I'd accompany you." It is a kind thought, but one they both know to be impossible; Rowena is tied to the castle where the other ghosts are not.

"I'm quite happy here, thank you," Rowena replies, smiling at the sight of her lover curled up beneath her worn tartan blanket on the sofa. Theirs is a love story lately written, and she has been alone for so many years that she can't help but be protective of the life they have built. She will not risk leaving Minerva for a silly bit of sightseeing.

Minerva glances up from the stack of parchments she is presently reading. "That's good," she murmurs, and Rowena smiles.

~

"What are those?" she asks, following Minerva into their quarters.

"These are flowers, for you," Minerva replies, fussing around with a vase. "They're from London."

Today is Valentine's Day, Rowena remembers; she saw the ridiculous nonsense their current travesty of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had conjured in the great hall. Minerva's thin-lipped disapproval had been the highlight of her day.

Rowena hovers over the tiny blossoms, tightly-furled buds of a variety unfamiliar to her. This is the magic of of life, she decides, watching Minerva trim the stems and arrange them just so. Magic isn't in conjuring or levitating or charms, isn't an action at all; magic is potential; is the flower that will, with a bit of care, slowly free itself from its green sheath and bloom. She reaches out a fingertip to touch them, but then recoils. She knows, as does Minerva, that a single touch would freeze the bud to its stem.

"Muggles freeze flowers," Minerva says, conversationally, as if she's read her mind. "They put them in big boxes filled with ice."

 "Why on earth would they do that?"

"To preserve them," Minerva says, after a moment. She's distracted; one of the stems isn't cooperating with the others. "To keep the memory of when they were given, I suppose."

She wears the same expression of concentration that Rowena has long found to be completely endearing. She recalls the first time she met Minerva McGonagall, on Minerva's first day of teaching. She stood nervously in her classroom, twisting her robes and smoothing them with a silent, wandless charm, over and over again. Rowena had fairly made her jump out of her skin, but Minerva had, after a bit of discussion, taken to her.

"Ah," Rowena says, and watches Minerva finish with them. Later, when they're sat before the fire, Minerva will tell her that they are chrysanthemums; cheap, common little flowers, to be sure, but beautiful nevertheless, a variety of daisy.  _In Japan, they symbolize perfection_ , Minerva will say.  _I learnt that from one of my students the other day_ , and Rowena will marvel at her, at this teacher who is always learning, at this marvelous woman who finds new ways to surprise her.

For there is love, Rowena has learned, to be found in surprises, just as readily as they found it in the comforting ritual of evenings spent together, as friendship shifted, ever so slowly, to love.

And in a week, when the petals of their hearty flowers begin to droop, Minerva will catch her.

_Oh Rowena,_  Minerva will say, with a smile that echoes in her voice,  _a simple stasis charm will do. We are witches, after all_.

_Yes_ , Rowena will think, watching Minerva stroke the petals as she casts her spell.  _But we are magical for far more than spells and charms._


End file.
